


Out of the Trenches

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War I, Blow Jobs, Injury, M/M, Military Kink, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John is injured, he's sent to a converted manor home to recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Trenches

John Watson lay on the battlefield, feeling his life seep out. Above him, incongruous amidst the carnage, a rainbow hung in the sky. He smiled to think it would be the last thing he saw.

Hands grabbed him, pulled him back towards the trenches, but he kept his eyes on that rainbow until unconsciousness finally claimed him.

Slowly he swam back to consciousness and opened his eyes. A field hospital. He knew those very well. Still in France, then. His mind turned sluggishly from the drugs, but he looked around at the other men. Most of them seemed to be on the mend. Not with those too far gone, then. His shoulder ached and he shifted.

A nurse saw him move and came to his side. “Just rest easy, Captain. They’ll be sending you home soon.”

Home? There wasn’t anything to go home _to_. He opened his mouth to explain that and felt the pinch of a needle as the drugs took control and he passed again.

Two weeks later, after a nauseating ride across the Channel, John found himself in a home for wounded veterans. Many of the others here had lost limbs or been gassed. His arm was in a sling, but he’d be able to keep it. Some of them had family or sweethearts that would visit. 

John found himself seeking out the quieter corners and rooms. The hospital was really a manor house that had been converted for the war, but aside from a few paintings there was no sign of the family that had lived there.

That was, until late one afternoon. He’d found a room that maybe would have been a sitting room at some point; with a place this big it was sometimes hard to tell what rooms were used for what. But it had a window looking out over the garden and none of the other soldiers seemed to come in here, so he’d taken to spending afternoons under the picture window with the newspaper or a book. It seemed that with the Americans finally in the war, the picture was getting a bit brighter. He bet the Americans would never let them forget it, either.

A small “Oh” made him look up quickly. A well dressed and slender young man had come into the room. He didn’t look like one of the soldiers, or a doctor for that matter. John’s eyes slid to a smaller painting that hung in the room and he realized the eyes were similar. “I’m sorry,” he said, standing quickly. “I didn’t realize this room was private.”

“It’s fine,” said the other man quickly, crossing over to him. “I didn’t know any of the soldiers had found this room. Sherlock Holmes,” he offered his hand.

“John Watson.” He shook it and wondered about the intelligence and curiosity he saw in his eyes.

“Please, sit,” said Sherlock, taking the other seat. He looked John over and raised an eyebrow. “How does a doctor come to be shot? I thought the medical corps were kept far behind the battlelines.”

John was startled by the question. “We still need doctors on the front. Medics do a good job, of course, but it doesn’t hurt to have an expert or two around.”

“You volunteered,” said Sherlock without hesitation.

Sitting back, John looked him over. “You read the records?”

“No. I just...observe.” The young man looked away, as if expecting a reprimand.

“I think that’s pretty brilliant,” said John. Sherlock looked back at him quickly. John smiled, finding the hint of blush to be fetching. This wasn’t France, but what happened in the trenches stayed in the trenches. “This is your family home, then?”

“Yes. I’ve been away studying at university and my brother is in London, so it was only logical that the home be used for the war. I only returned a few days ago and I haven’t been speaking with anyone.”

“Well, it’s a lovely home and I know the men are grateful.” John looked out the window and saw one of the amputees walking through the flowers. 

Sherlock shifted forward. “Have you explored the grounds?”

John looked back towards him. “No, I haven’t. Bit of a bum knee.”

Glancing down at it, Sherlock smirked. “Not as bad you think. Come on, you’re a man of action, not one for lounging around with the papers.” He stood and tugged John to his feet.

Laughing, John shook his head. “All right then, lead on.”

Sherlock led him out the back and past the garden. John took a deep breath; it had been too long since he’d left the house. The young man walked quickly and John hurried to keep up, surprised to find he could. He kept his bad arm tucked close to his body.

They followed a faded trail through a copse of trees to a dilapidated gazebo. John wasn’t sure it wouldn't fall down at any moment. There had once been a lawn here, but it had been allowed to grow wild. Sherlock drew him up inside and John glanced up, wary of the roof.

“It’s sturdier than it appears. My grandfather had it built, but it was allowed to go to ruin after he passed.”

John turned his attention to the woodwork, running his hand over it. Despite the overall appearance, it did seem solid. Sherlock stepped closer to him and put a hand on his back. An electric thrill shot through John that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“We are all alone, Captain,” Sherlock whispered in his ear.

John briefly wondered if the young man had only brought him out here to seduce him, then decided he didn’t care. The man could obviously read him like a book already, and if they were caught it would go far worse for Sherlock with his family connections than for a simple soldier.

“Yes, it would seem so,” said John, voice gone quiet, dangerous. He felt Sherlock shiver behind him. Smiling, John moved to a bench and sat, stretching out his leg and letting his other one fall to the side, an invitation, if he was reading the signals right.

Sherlock’s eyes went dark and he moved towards John, slipping to his knees before him. Affectionately, John ran his fingers through the mess of curls. “I’ve been living one day at a time for a long time,” he admitted. “I’d like to get to know you better, but I’m not going to pass this up.”

“Wise,” muttered Sherlock, reaching for his trousers.

John licked his lips as the zip came down, then grinned as the blue eyes went wide at the bulge. “Did you observe that?” he asked.

“Not so much,” Sherlock admitted, freeing him from his pants and running his large hand down the generous length before following it with his tongue. John moaned softly and shifted forward to make it easier for him. A late afternoon drizzle struck the roof above them as if nature wanted to help cover their noise.

Sherlock shifted up and wrapped his mouth around him, sliding down as far as he could until settling into a steady rhythm. God, the man was good with his mouth. John tried not to thrust up, but it was damned hard, especially as that wicked tongue flicked the head of his cock.

Almost embarrassingly quick, and before he could give warning, John was coming down Sherlock’s throat. He didn't’ seem to mind though, swallowing nearly to the point of oversensitivity before finally pulling his head back. John panted as he leaned against the boards.

Sherlock tucked him back into his pants. John caught his hand. “Maybe I can…”

He shook his head. “When you are better, Captain. And it was my pleasure.”

“All the nice girls like a soldier,” smiled John, pulling him into a kiss.

Sherlock stiffened with surprise, then relaxed. As they broke apart he moved to John’s good side and leaned against him, still holding his hand.

“I have a feeling my recovery may keep me here longer than anticipated,” said John quietly.

“Pity,” muttered Sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

> for exchangelock and ishipanarmada
> 
> Much thanks to beltainefaire, beuatifullyheeled and the writing group. You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
